Alien Things
by Deconstructed Alibi
Summary: A Harry Potter/X-files crossover. Alien things crawling her mind; they never stopped, not even at Hogwarts. Magic seemed the answer, ages ago, but now, Lauren will need some serious mind-searching to counter the maddening uncertainty eating her alive.


**A L I E N **

**T H I N G S  
**

**_Chapter One_****: **_Eyes like her own_

She was aware of her own fragility; the wind, blowing hard around her, making a mess of her long, vibrant red hair, showed her how lonely and miserable she was, standing in that barren land, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Wave after wave of dirty-white sand whipped its way around her body, swarming like endless colonies of vicious bees, aiming to sting her white, delicate skin. A long, cream-coloured robe did a pitiful attempt at protecting her; it stuck to her body like a second skin, and let the cold get through like it didn't exist. It almost felt like an active element in a conspiracy to strangle her, not at the neck, but at every vein and artery in her body, to prevent her to exist and _find out_…

Surprisingly, everything was silent. Not a sound disrupted the heavy stillness of the landscape; it was as if every sound had ceased to exist just to add to the dream's strangeness. But that extra layer of complexity added to the chaotic weirdness went discarded every time; every sensation she felt in her body was dimmed by the loudness of her own thoughts, uttered in a foreign language she could not recognise just yet. It was frightening, yet challenging, too; so far she had only discovered the tip of the metaphorical iceberg, and every waking and sleeping moment, she struggled to dive into the ice-cold waters of her subconscious to retrieve the tiniest bit of understanding needed to mitigate the maddening anguish in her throat; that creeping feeling, prowling around all over her skin and through her muscles, bones and blood, trying to suppress her will and wield control over her mind and body.

The feeling of not belonging.

She was not alone. She felt it clearly: a presence, thick and imposing, surrounding her, shapeless and invisible. It shifted, but never left; it didn't move the slightest bit away, either. It was there, in the wind that attempted to strangle her, in the sand that attempted to choke her, in the infiniteness of her vision, which attempted to madden her. It was invisible, inaudible, but so present, so _real_, that it occupied her every thought, rending the harsh weather and environment conditions irrelevant to her eyes. This presence was _it_; the very thing she wanted to discern. The faintest link she had already discovered was the end of the rope she held on for dear life, and, as she struggled to climb up and _see_, she felt the presence shaking her off, plotting her fall.

And she was not about to let it win.

* * *

Lauren had been looking at the mirror far longer than it was necessary; her hair rested done, tied in a ponytail at the back of her head, and that was all she was willing to do to improve her appearance. She didn't use any make up, ever; she considered it useless. Luckily for her, she didn't need the tiniest bit of it: her fair complexion was always spotless, and her icy-blue eyes, framed by thick lashes and enhanced by perfectly arched and outlined eyebrows, gave her face the sort of ethereal, incredible beauty impossible to achieve through any artificial means. But all of it was beside her; she would have raised a quizzical eyebrow to anyone telling her she possessed the kind of beauty that made other females jealous; she considered physical appearance absolutely worthless.

"Laurie, breakfast!"

Lauren's mother, Eileen, was the opposite of her daughter. The homemaker, in her early forties, donned pristine clothes and hairdo even before the sun was up. Make-up always in place, she looked every bit like someone out of a TV commercial; it was as if she expected visitors to come to the house at any time, and, questioned about the matter, she always replied it did no harm to be prepared.

"Lauren Elyse, come down this minute!"

Lauren's mother was not to be disobeyed.

The girl dragged herself out of her room, every step draining her energy; she wasn't tired or lazy, it was just that, the place she least wanted to be in was the kitchen, with her family. She knew she would be assaulted with questions and recommendations for her new school year: room accommodations, proper behaviour in class, outside class, and so on and so forth, and there were already plenty of things to occupy her mind with that had nothing to do with the glaringly mundane; things that felt worlds more important than minding her personal things, getting the best grades or behaving nicely towards teachers and students.

"There you are," her mother greeted her, with a smile. It was sincere; Lauren hadn't upset her mother long enough to have to withstand a forced simper and a piercing remark; her mother was the queen of diplomacy, but she could hurt when she wanted without losing her trademark appropriate demeanour.

"Good morning, mom, dad, Kyle," Lauren's greetings where always short, but her immediate relatives were used to them; it gave them the perfect excuse to comment on every little detail of her behaviour with what, they were convinced, was honesty, but came out like careless critique most of the time.

"Is that what you're wearing to your first day, honey?" her mother asked, in a tone that attempted - and failed - to hide her disapproval, as she eyed up and down her daughter, dressed in jeans, Converse shoes and a dark blue sweater.

"I'll wear the robes, mom," Lauren replied, looking down into her cereal bowl. She wished she could just dive into the bowl and resurface when they were all gone to their respective activities.

"Right, the uniform," her mother recalled. "I do wonder why they make it so… _unfastened_," she added, her mouth curving with slight disgust. Lauren knew well her mother would rather be caught dead than wearing something like the Hogwarts robes. Lauren didn't mind in the slightest; she welcomed every garment that guaranteed simplicity and freedom of movement.

"Nonsense, Eileen," replied Lauren's father, Giles. "Young ladies need not to be worried about what to dress or how to enhance their appearance, but the fulfilment of their scholarly duties," he recited, from his personal collection of practical quotes. "Lauren here will do excellently if she sets her mind to her studies, and nothing else, you hear me, young lady?"

"Yes, dad," Lauren replied, still looking down. Her father didn't need to remind her of that: she was well aware of what was expected of her, at least academically, and had no trouble fulfilling those expectations.

"But, _dad_," interjected her brother, Kyle, "how's Lauren ever going to put all her knowledge of the occult sciences to good use if she doesn't start relating _now_?" Kyle still had the mental image of Hogwarts as a cave where a small number of self-appointed witches and wizards indulged in sacrificial rites all day long. Lauren didn't care enough to put him right, though; what bothered her more was his insistence on the subject of popularity: he considered her lack of acquaintances a serious obstacle to her future success, carrier-wise.

"That's a point there, honey," her mother said, looking both at her daughter and her husband. "Befriending the right people at this stage of your life can go a long way to help your future, think about that," she added, giving a graceful, approval nod to her son's idea.

"It would be a good start if you got a nice, flattering haircut," she said, inspecting her daughter's long hair. "If only we had time today…"

Lauren was glad they didn't have any time. She still had to get her luggage ready for magical school, and even though the final touches was all it needed, she had told her mother she would need all the time she could get to make everything right; her mother had frowned, determined as she had been to make a little princess out of her scruffy, unfeminine daughter for her first day in Third Year.

"… and our gym teacher said I had a huge chance of reaching the national team…" Kyle went on and on about him and his life. Lauren never understood how he managed to make a simple event, like eating an ice-cream, into an epic story.

"… besides, when I finish my project, the science teacher will give me a recommendation…"

"That's great, honey," replied his mother, countering the elder son's chatter, "have you updated your list? You know how important it is to have options…"

On and on they went, joined occasionally by the ever-practical advice from the father. Lauren remained silent, eating her breakfast and losing herself inside her own mind, where things got a lot more complicated than school projects and recommendations will ever get.

* * *

Cars and cars and cars, going side by side with them; Lauren sat in her father's car, watching silently outside, her mind flying away from her like a horse in a loose rein.

"… and when you get there, be sure to thank Professor McGonagall for all the help with her assignment…" her father droned, listing all the things her daughter was to do as soon as she set foot on the Hogwarts Express. "You know how difficult it became to you last year, what with all the… Second Year issues," he, just like his son, had a smaller grasp in the magical world than he'd be willing to acknowledge, and couldn't be as exact as he would have liked with his advice; however, this didn't rob him from the pleasure of spreading his wisdom at every opportunity.

"Yes, dad," Lauren answered mechanically; she had stopped paying attention to him a long while ago, and knew he only needed an open ear and a closed mouth to be pleased. Transfiguration hadn't really presented a difficulty, but she had made the unpardonable mistake of commenting it had become harder than in First Year - which was to be expected -in one of her letters.

"And I can't see you off this time," her father added, after a short silence. "I have to meet with some work colleagues at twelve to discuss the finer details of the company's last financial move," he said.

"It's okay, dad," replied Lauren, somewhat relieved. It would certainly give her a rest to have a few minutes without her father before boarding the train, minutes which will probably be spent in the train, anyway, picking an empty compartment and sitting in peace to think. Lauren had a few friends, but they were mostly study pals; she knew she would probably spend some time exchanging ideas and thoughts about summer schoolwork with them, but it was certain that they'd spend twice as much time catching up with each other and their lives in the vacation months.

Lauren had little to say about the matter; aside from a one-week visit to an aunt at the US, they hadn't really gone away. Her father was a top executive in an important manufacturing company, and couldn't afford to be outside the office for more than a week, and her mother was determined on the idea that trips should be for the whole family or neither of them, which had made the time spent at home rather straining for Lauren. Her brother left almost every weekend with his friends, after some clever and persistent convincing of her mother, and got back Sunday night to get ready for his weekday activities, which consisted of a part-time job at a local restaurant and a series of courses on varied subjects. Only Lauren and her mother remained in the house, most of the time, and their interests couldn't be any different: Eileen was always insisting that Lauren should take up a summer job, or a class, or anything that might get her out of her bedroom, and Lauren was always retreating to the aforementioned bedroom, to escape the endless socialising her mother tried to submit her to, when her friends - middle-aged housewives, as perfect-looking as her - arrived to the house, for their late afternoon tea parties or the mid-morning get-togethers.

On retrospective, Lauren was relieved to be finally on her own, even if it was in the car with her father; he didn't require a real interaction with her daughter, aside her submissive acceptance of his guidance, unlike her mother, who was always demanding she expressed herself more appropriately.

_Eyes like her own, looking back through the mirror of time, pondering, wondering, asking, demanding…_

Lauren felt a thrill creeping up from her stomach to her throat, and her face felt hot all of a sudden. Had she dozed off? A pair of eyes, just like her own, had looked at her through the window of a taxi cab, and a mixed expression of panic and surprise, coming from the face of a white and very pretty woman, had jolted her insides. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but remained fresh in Lauren's mind for far longer than she would have liked; the girl frowned, turning around to locate the car in which the woman was; she could only see it turning around a corner and disappearing, before her father made a turn as well. It would have been impossible to get down and find the car: nothing assured her the woman would stop the taxi to wait for her; on the other hand, Lauren's father would have had none of it, and Lauren knew there was no way he'd find the reasons for stopping any reasonable.

The reason was that Lauren was sure she had seen her biological mother.


End file.
